Blackbird
by A Nicole That Morphs
Summary: A contemplative Quatre thinks about his life and emotions


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Blackbird

"Sometimes sitting by yourself is the best way to reflect. I find it harder to talk about life with someone else than to think about it by yourself. That could be because often people don't listen to one another, so speaking your views out loud frequently becomes pointless because no one is hearing you out."

Quatre paused, tapping the pen thoughtfully against his cheek. He looked at the book sitting next to him, and he grinned. He knew he was supposed to be writing a book report, but sitting outside in the garden on such a beautiful day didn't prove to be the best time. He placed his hand against the cold marble of the garden table he was sitting at, and tapped his finger, thinking of what to write next as he brought the pen back to the paper.

"A beautiful day, much like today, often proves to be the best time to think. Because no matter how hard you dwell on depressing thoughts, the beauty of the day keeps you from feeling depressed throughout your soul. I find days like today are the best time to think about exactly what went wrong in life." He put the pen down for a moment as he noticed a cardinal sitting in a nearby tree. He sighed happily, and turned his head up to the sky, letting the sunlight fall onto his face as a single tear rolled down his cheek. 

"I often wonder how I manage to continue with my life so happily. I've been through so many more hardships then most people can imagine, and yet, I know people who have been through more then myself. I sometimes think that maybe I'm not continuing in my life, that maybe I've died and am in heaven, because sometimes things seem to be too good for me. I don't deserve all the good things that have happened to me, after all the killing I've done. Now that the war is over, I find myself unable to return to the way I was before the war. 

"A possible reason for this could be because I grew up in a time of war, so there was no part of my childhood that was 'before' the war. My father had just made it seem that way for me, to try to keep me from becoming hardened and uncompassionate because of the war. Unfortunately his attempts ended up being futile, because I brought myself out into the war of my own will. No matter how many times I apologized to my father afterwards, I don't think he ever really heard me.

"This is one reason I know I am still alive. If I were in heaven, I wouldn't have to go through all these times of depression and guilt about my father's death, because he would be here with me. I wouldn't ever have to feel lonely again, I would always have a companion, someone to talk with. Someone who would really listen." He wiped his eyes and stood up. He had to clear his mind before he continued. He couldn't quite remember what had inspired him to start writing his soul down, but he knew he couldn't stop until he was done. He looked back to the book sitting on the table, the way the sunlight was reflected off the plastic cover lured him back over to his seat in front of the lined paper on the table.

"The closest I have come to finding someone who will truly listen to me is Trowa. He's seen me cry before, crying over things that may seem pointless to him but mean so much to me. Like acceptance. Trowa doesn't seem to care if people accept him or not, maybe that's what makes him so strong. I, on the other hand, feel that acceptance is what pushes people to become extraordinary people. When people accept you for who you are, or who you pretend to be, it often makes you more confident of yourself, and you find you can do more things, expand your mind because you aren't afraid of failure. You aren't afraid of failure when you're accepted because there's always someone to back you up. Always. While I know Trowa doesn't have the same views on acceptance that I do, he never makes me feel that it's stupid to have my views. He often tells me that I deserve 'so much more from life then what I'm getting', but I can't say I agree with him. If anything, I may say I disagree. It's impossible for someone like me to deserve more then what I'm getting. It's impossible for someone who's given up hope in life to deserve anything.

"Of course, Trowa doesn't know I've given up my hope, my dreams of becoming an extraordinary person. I make sure not to let it show, I make sure that every day I look like I have some sort of hope pushing me onward in life. But all of that is hollow, empty, just a front for how I'm really feeling. I don't want Trowa to know because I don't want him going out of his way to try and convince me otherwise. I've already tried convincing myself otherwise, but to no avail. If I won't listen to myself any longer when I try to say that I'll find a new goal to strive for, who else would I listen to?" *If I don't want Trowa to know any of this, then why am I writing it down?* His mind accused. He picked up the paper and got ready to crumple it. *It just feels so good writing it down, letting it out. Even if it isn't to a person, but a mere piece of paper..* he thought forlornly. Before he crumpled the paper, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye.

*What a beautiful bird..* He thought as he turned his head slowly to look. The bird was jet black, undeniably a blackbird. It had landed a few feet away from the marble table, and began pecking around in the dirt, lifting it's head every once in a while to look out for danger. Quatre placed the paper back on the table, and put the book down on top to keep the papers from flying away as the wind kicked up. He then sat down with his back to the table, watching the blackbird. *Why would it chose such an unfertile piece of ground to peck at?* He found himself wondering as the bird continued scratching at the ground. *Maybe because it knows that if it can't find anything there, it can always move on..* He answered his own question, and sighed at the thought. He turned back around, and removed the book from the papers, finally ready to continue writing.

"I find myself sitting now, outside, watching a blackbird as it struggles to find food. I suppose this can prove how little hope I have in life, because as I sit watching the blackbird, I find myself admiring it. I admire it for many a reason. It's such a beautiful bird, the way the sunlight catches it's feathers and seems to make them glow a darker black. But most importantly, I admire the blackbird for it's relentless effort to locate food in the unfertile ground it is working at right now. I am at a loss when I try to figure out exactly why it decides to peck in that particular spot when the rest of the garden, full of berries and insects, is at it's disposal, when it could go to any other location and find food in abundance.

"I believe that maybe the reason I can't come to an answer to the statement above is because I have a different outlook on things. The blackbird obviously knows that there is food in abundance all around him, maybe that's why he stops to try at the places that seem to hold no benefit to his tireless efforts. He knows that if worse happens to come to worse, he can always fly off, and move on to another spot. He manages to keep hope knowing that there will always be food at some other location. If I were to put myself in the blackbird's spot, I don't think I'd be able to have the same outlook. Because, you see, his present situation and my life have more in common then anyone else will know. I find myself pushing on in life with no hope, which makes life pointless. The blackbird, on the other hand, pushes on in his mission with hope, with certainty, which makes his life more valuable then any passerby will ever know." Quatre watched as the bird suddenly took flight low to the ground, and came to rest a few yards away, in a bush growing against the stone wall.

"He manages to take off so quickly, the barren land just a memory in his mind as he picks berries off the bush. Maybe that's my problem, why my life seems to hold no hope. I find myself unable to move off of the barren land I'm in. I am not able to move on to higher ground, to see what the next location in my life offers me. Every new location comes with a new set of hope, and when someone becomes unable to move to a new location in their life, their life becomes tired because it's stuck with hopes that have already been spent up. I suppose if I am to be compared to anything, a blackbird would be fitting at this point in life. Only my blackbird would be one who doesn't know how to move off of the barren land it's living on, that doesn't know how to simply forget the barren land and move on to a more hopeful spot. Maybe someday I'll figure out how to move on, but at this point I am incapable of doing so." He stopped writing, watching as the blackbird took flight, and flew out of the garden. *I wasn't good company anyway..* Quatre thought as he watched the bird fly out of sight. *I wonder if it'll ever come back.* He looked back at the sheet of paper, and re-read what he wrote concerning the blackbird. He sighed with a frustrated tone. *I treat the blackbird like it's a person. Now I know why I don't speak my soul. I barely have one.* He turned around as he heard the back door close, and he saw Trowa making his way into the garden. Quatre quickly picked up the pen, knowing that he had to finish writing before Trowa could see it, he couldn't leave his mind with no closer on the matter.

"I like to think that someday I will be able to lift myself higher, to find new hope in my life. I suppose maybe that can be my hope now. It seems fitting, that my hope can be looking for new hope. That's one goal that will never wear out. But I'm also left to wonder if that's a logical decision. If I decide to live my life looking always for new hope, that means that I will never be able to be happy with the hope I have. At this point I don't need to make the decision, but I live knowing that someday I will have to decide; Do I want to live on this barren ground forever, or do I want to open my wings, and let the wind carry me to higher ground?" 

Quatre put the pen down next to the paper, and stood up as Trowa came towards him. As the wind kicked up again, Quatre saw the paper he had been writing on sink slowly to the ground. Trowa saw Quatre look at the piece of paper, and watched as he moved to pick it up.

"What's that?" Trowa asked as Quatre picked it up the paper and crumpled it.

"Nothing important." Quatre said as he stuffed it in his pocket. As he turned around again to look at Trowa, he was surprised to see a blackbird sitting on the marble table where he had previously been sitting. It turned it's head so one eye seemed to be looking directly at him, let out a short 'Caw', and then opened it's wings and floated into a nearby tree. Quatre closed his eyes and bowed his head. *..if it can't find anything there, it can always move on by

just opening it's wings and letting the wind carry it to higher ground…*

~ The End ~


End file.
